Quickie rodeo driven cowboys with
supernatural abilities and a little tiff amongst the natives. When twin to the
now deceased alpha returns to his pack and the supernatural rodeo things are
not all a bed or two of roses for him. Denton died at the hands/horns of a
demon bull. The pack has lost their alpha and the next in line, Denver, has not
been around for over fifty years.

The pack was not the only ones that
lost someone. Blaine lost his best friend. Not knowing where he stands in the pack
makes for a difficult time for him. Denver had returned with not such a warm
welcome at his hands. Denver and Blaine had a connection that was hot and
intense.

For a short this was written nicely
and had deliciously hot hunks. With more development and bit more side play
this would make a novel instead of a novella. It would also allow for more
depth and insight to the Midnight Rodeo.

When head bullfighter Denton is killed
by a demon bull, his twin, Denver, comes back to take his place. Denver was
gone for years, working mundane rodeos and missing his twin. He’s not sure the
pack can heal him since the other bullfighters challenge Denver at every turn.
All except Blaine, who’s an outcast himself, and who knows Denver is like no
one he’s ever met.

Denton had been
stunning, making Blaine stare a lot. A lot. Still, Dent had been off-limits,
and he’d bet Denver was, too. No one could be that hot and be like Blaine.

He was the weird one,
the one brought into the pack by a she-wolf who had already had a single pup.
Blaine figured he was lucky no one had killed him when he was a kid.

Everyone else was
broad and wide, shaggy-headed with eyes like green glass. All of them came from
the same line. Denver was the spitting image of Denton, really. A little harder
around the edges, a little more wild. A shit ton more bruised.

The guys had been
taking turns. Two a night, just like clockwork, they’d come and challenge
Denver. One at midnight, one at three a.m. Greg and Vince went, then Carter and
Caul, and finally Hank and Mike. Boom.

He supposed Denver
was waiting for him now. Blaine sighed. He had no intention of trying to take
the pack. God, the very idea made his head hurt.

The real question
was, were they going to just start over, or was Denver going to get a night
off, a chance to sleep before they settled in town for tonight’s show?

Eventually they’d
kill Denver, too. Someone would get lucky, and the Alpha would get tired. Then
where would they be? None of the others were really natural leaders.

Blaine glanced away
to make sure no one else was about. When he looked back at Denver, the man was
staring back at him. Damn. Caught.

One eye was black,
damn near swollen shut, but the other watched him like a hawk.

He didn’t turn tail
like he wanted to, and he fought down a nervous smile, managing a nod instead.
Then he grabbed his proverbial bootstraps and pulled his courage up out of his
socks.

“Hey. You need
anything, man? I was gonna go get a hamburger.”

“Thank you, no.”
Denver’s head tilted, the look pure Denton down to a T. “Is it your turn
tonight? Seems like a shitty deal, to be left to fight on your own.”

“Well, I never did
pair up.” He shrugged. “I don’t want your job. If that means I ain’t good
enough to work with you, I’ll fight. But if you can handle that, I’ll have your
back.”

“You were good enough
for Dent; you’re good enough for me.”

“Thanks.” Relief
flowed through him. Acceptance wasn’t always easy when you were different.
Wolves could turn on anyone with weird eyes or a bad leg. Or not-pack blood.
“Well. You sure you don’t want some food?”

“Honey, I appreciate
it, but they’ll turn on you. It’s how it works. ’Sides, my jaw’s tender.” He
got a half grin, and he didn’t get it. Denver was supposed to be, like, this
violent, leather-wearing biker asshole. Not a guy who grinned.

“Shit, they always
called me Dent’s whipping boy. They let me stay because I’m fast and stronger
than I look. I have a way with the stock.”

“Yeah? I need to
learn them. I’ll buy food, you tell me about them. All of them. I’ve been
working mundane shows.”

“Oh, then you’re in
for a whole new world.” Even the regular bulls were genetically engineered
these days so hardly anyone could stay on them, but their show? Holy-shit-moly.

“I worked the show
under Elvin.”

Whoa. Elvin had
trained Dent, too. The man was a legend. Dead, but a legend. Sort of like Dent.

“You’ll do all right,
then, but there are a few to watch out for.” He would be happy to be the one to
fill in Denver on their big beasts.

Denver walked with
him, solid and quiet. Still.

Blaine felt the urge
to babble, which he never did. He was the quiet one, for fuck’s sake. He knew
to keep his fucking head down and stay under the fucking radar.

“Huh?” He’d been so
busy keeping his head down, he’d missed what Denver had asked. Smooth.

“I just asked which
ones you like best, the burgers.”

“Oh, the double bacon
cowboy burger.” His mouth watered at the name.

“What makes it a
cowboy burger?”

“Barbecue sauce and
fried onions.” He loved that sweet and sour and crispy bacon goodness. His
belly rumbled. He was so damned hungry. He’d never admit it to Denver, but half
the reason he wanted to eat with the man was that the pack had been, uh,
denying him some resources.

Speaking of, Mike
came around the corner, snarling. “What are you doing with him, Stubby?”

God, he hated that
fucking nickname.

Before he could
answer, Denver growled, the sound raising his hackles. “Are you questioning me,
pup?”

Mike stared,
belligerent as all hell, but his bruises told the story. Denver had beat him down.
Mike finally looked away. “No, sir.”

“That was amazing.”
Blaine could fight. God knew he could take a hit from two thousand pounds of
pissed-off beef on the hoof and keep going. But he’d never seen Mikey back off
that fast, not even from Dent.

“So, Stubby?
Seriously? Doesn’t seem to suit.”

His cheeks heated,
and Blaine put his hands in his pockets. “I hate it.”

“Good to know.”
Laconic didn’t begin to describe this man. Getting words out was like pulling
teeth.

“Yeah. I mean, that
way you can only use it when you want to piss me off.”

“That’s fair. You
work the final night?”

“I do.” No one could
deny he had a way with Bricklayer. That damned bull was always a top draw, and
he was mean as a snake.

B.A. Tortuga Texan to the bone and an
unrepentant Daddy's Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds,
getting tattooed, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she's not
doing that, she's writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting,
and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA's personal saviors include
her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of
coffee. Really good coffee.

Having written everything from fist-fighting
rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the
stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the
call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from
hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery ménages, to the most traditional of love
stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.